


I'll show you

by chairlift



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:07:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5376314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chairlift/pseuds/chairlift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘’If I would have known, it could have been you. If I had the chance, I'd make us brand new.’’</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll show you

**Author's Note:**

> just because Bieber's new album is all about Mario wanting Marco back and I couldn't help it.  
> un-betaed.

_‘’If I would have known, it could have been you. If I had the chance, I'd make us brand new.’’_

It’s not breaking news anymore.

The first time it happens he has Pierre’s left arm around his chest, breathing in, breathing out, an almost too cold Dortmund night around them. The phone buzzing woke him up and after stretching an arm with considerate difficulty (Pierre is a pretty good big spoon), the message on the bright screen making the room suddenly very silent.

 _‘’Subjected to my system, reflecting on the days when we used to be just friends’’_ It reads. And he reads again. And again. And again. He reads it until he realizes he’s froze on the spot and his knuckles turned white around the phone and he tries to breath slow again, blink again, fix again.

It’s not like they haven’t been in touch in a while, there were selfies somewhere. Plastic smiles. Plastic conversations. ‘’How’s that team I hate doin’?’’ Mario just chuckled and he couldn’t say no to his mouth tasting like it wanted to… spit all. Those entire things he doesn’t say because it’s not the time anymore.

But then, he does.

And he does again and this time it’s not fair to say Marco wasn’t expecting. In fact he couldn’t concentrate on falling asleep ‘cause in some bizarre, twisted reality, he feels every single one of his body cells moving like a beehive, an easy sleeping, smiling again beehive, who’s peace is constantly in danger because there is that one big brown bear. Always around the corner.

_‘’They ain’t ever had my back like you got it. They ain’t ever had a chance how you got it.’’_

It’s not like he doesn’t know what this is all about, it’s kinda funny actually, how it fits. But he never answers, having promised to himself almost unconsciously that he wouldn’t, unless he’d lost his mind, and the Earth turned backwards, and he forgot how much does two plus two cost. He waits and listens to it every day (it’s everywhere), wakes up with a buzzing feeling (but it’s not on the nightstand, it’s the beehive), breathes in, breathes out. Somewhere, deep inside, he waits. He won’t admit it, makes sure to always breathe slow when it seems to be in a need to show. Whatever helps him sleep at night. Breathing in, breathing out.

It never comes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(The answer never comes to Munich. Once, twice, three times. So he types ‘’is it too late now to say sorry?’’ and it’s now nineteen times. Doesn’t even bother to add ‘’cause I’m missing more than just your body’’ and deletes it again.)

**Author's Note:**

> sorry :P


End file.
